Writer's Block
by CliCliR
Summary: Spike helps his human self write a better poem. Please R'n'R! Oneshot. Pretty long. And my first attempt at poetry.


**A/N: Hey guys!! Okay, so this is a little random idea I had for a one shot. Sorry it's so long! Really! It's set sometime between seasons 3 and 4 and Lover's Walk and The Harsh Light of Day never happened for the purpose of this fanfic. The poem is mine, though I got inspiration for a few lines from Hellogoodby (song Oh, It Is Love) and The All American Rejects (No idea what song, it's on their self titled album!). I hope you guys like it! I'm not big into writing poetry so please let me know what you guys think! =P**

**And I'm sorry, it can get a little confusing, but three stars ( *** ) means that the POV has changed… You'll understand as you go along! I hope!**

**Disclaimer: I am not Joss Whedon (obviously) so therefore I don't own any of the characters here (except one). I do, however own most of the poem and the general plot for this story.**

**Enjoy!!**

**Writer's Block**

Spike wandered the streets lazily. He was alone, just him and his confused thoughts. _Dru abandoned me, I can't even kill the bloody slayer. What the hell happened to me? _He took a swig from the bottle he was carrying. He stopped and looked around. He had no idea where he was. He turned down the nearest alley he could see. "Bloody slayer. More trouble than she's bloody worth." He said to himself.

He walked and thought in silence for a few minutes, taking whatever turns he wanted. Eventually, his drunken thoughts began to turn to the night he was changed. "Bloody Cecily." He cursed her. "Why didn't you just love me back?" On the last word he threw the half full bottle with force against the wall then stepped backward, pressing his back against the wall and sinking to the floor.

_What if I could change it? What if I had wrote her a better poem?_ "Bet she wouldn't hate me then," he murmured. He covered his face with his hands and sat for a while. If he could, would he really want to change it? He loved being a vampire. Loved. Past tense.

He sat for a few moments, unmoving. "What if it could be changed, what If I told you that I had the power to send you back, to change it. Would you do it? _Could _you do it? You've lived, died and lived again, but would you go back and change your past, knowing that you would eventually die?" A croaky voice asked.

Spike wearily looked deeper into the alley. He had just about lost it with drunks who wandered through back alleys at night, disturbing his quiet time. "What's it to you? What does anyone in this sodden town care?" He buried his face in his hands again.

"I don't, but I have the power to change it if you wished. I can see you don't though, so I'll go." Spike's curiosity had peaked. "Wait, if I did go back, what'd I have to do?"

A shrouded figure stepped out of the shadows. "Just change it. Make what you want happen."

Spike unsteadily stood up. "Alright, send me back." Spike demanded. The lower half of a hooded face smiled.

***

William sat in an old chair in the corner of his (or rather his mother's) living room, muttering to himself. He believed that that was what budding poets did - spend their time secluded, thinking up words to rhyme with other words. Anne, who often watched her beloved son puzzle over his "greatest piece yet", felt that he spent far too much of his time alone. She loved that he was doing something he enjoyed, but it pained her to think that he wrote poems about something called love which he had never truly experienced yet. If he wasn't going to do something about it then she'd make him.

"William, dear," she began.

"Hmm?" He muttered, looking up from the sheet that was black with ink. He had written, scratched out and re-written the same thing so many times by then.

"You've spent far too much time on that poem for tonight; perhaps you should go to the party I've heard so much about. I hear that this Cecily I've heard so much about is going." She told him.

William paused to think. Cecily. The one he dreamed about night and day. He glanced at the sheet in front of him. He could go there and see the face of the angel that sweetened his every thought with an imagined smile. The writer's block he'd had for the past week would simply melt if he could just see her. He smiled warmly at his mother. She was always looking out for him, always had his best interest at heart. For everything she had done for him, he at least owed her an amazing story of the love he imagined he'd share with Cecily. Though before his own pleasures he always put one person first.

"But you're sick mother, you need someone to care for you." He protested.

"I'll be fine son, one night won't kill me," she joked. He'd looked after her since she'd fallen ill, and now he needed a break.

William mulled this over. He did want to go, to see Cecily smile at him, but he felt his duties lay at home.

Anne saw his thoughtful expression. "If you don't go, how will Cecily ever learn of your love?" She asked him in an innocent tone, knowing exactly what she was saying would make William react exactly how she wanted. And it did.

"You're right mother," he told her excitedly, "I suppose I will go and see her. Cecily." He had decided to bring his poetry and read it to her there. Then she would fall into his arms and let him love her and write her more poetry, and with every word he read her she'd fall more and more in love with him. He got up excitedly from the chair, made himself 'presentable' and left the house.

***

Spike had arrived back in 19th century London. He dusted himself off and stepped out of the doorway he'd appeared in. That demon/person thing had sent him as close as it could to where the party was on. He swayed a little, then casually walked as quickly as he could, before it was too late to change anything. He ignored the strange glances from the townsfolk he had once considered equals. He waited at the corner, watching as people filed into Cecily's father's house.

No sign of him… Spike had decided he was sick of waiting for himself to come, and headed into the house to change his past…

***

At the party, William looked carefully around for anyone he knew. He wandered lost through the hall, his heart sinking a little more each time he saw a face that wasn't hers. He had given up hope and resigned to sit in the corner, trying to overcome the writer's block himself. He re-read what he had already written.

_My heart expands._

'_Tis grown a bulge in it,_

_Inspired by your beauty._

_Effulgent…_

He had asked one of the waiters for some help. "Something to rhyme with effulgent. It's a perfectly perfect word as words go. The bother is nothing rhymes, you see." The waiter simply smiled politely at his unusual question and walked away silently to offer his hors d'oeuvre to someone who'd want it. William sighed and threw his view to the staircase. There he saw her.

***

Spike watched his past self stare blankly at the sheet that held that god forsaken poem on it. He silently made a vow to himself. _As soon as I've written a better one I'm gonna burn that sodden thing. _He watched himself ask the waiter for help in finding the right word and then watched the waiter leave. He watched himself watch Cecily. He didn't have much time to wait now.

***

Elegantly dressed, she came down, smiling at her 'friends.' Those people he hated, who criticised his poetry and free spirit. He knew his poetry wasn't the best, but at least he felt that he wrote from the heart. He stood up and prepared to approach her, to live the scenario he had imagined so many different times. _What if she doesn't like it? What if I find that I can't speak in her presence. I'll look so foolish then._ He told himself. Immediately he sat down again. He needed to perfect his poem before he read it to her. Though next to her, nothing would be perfect. He placed the pen to paper, slowly considering what to write next. Before he had the chance to write, he stopped and stood up again. He couldn't change it, this was exactly how he felt about her.

He imagined his mother's smiling face, willing him to make a life for himself. _The first step is always the hardest._ He thought. Almost reluctantly, he lifted his right foot. He moved it slowly forward. For a second it hovered frozen above the ground before he could muster up the courage to push it downwards. It felt as though this foot wasn't his, he struggled to push against the fear that held it there. Eventually it hit the ground softly. _That's it, that's exactly what I need to do. Now again, Left foot this time. _Another step. His fear ebbed as he took more and more small steps. He was about to read his poem to the one he loved with all his heart. He was nearly there now. Now to grab her attention.

"Ah, Cec-" someone had grabbed him and dragged him back to the chair in the corner.

"Where do you think you're going, Nancy boy?" A man demanded. William stared up at this intruder to his step to perfection.

"If you must know, I'm about to tell the woman I love exactly how I feel." William answered, irritated at the intrusion. This stranger was badly dressed, with yellow hair and a strange self obsessed manner.

"Not with that, you're not. Here, lemme see it." William decided he didn't like this man at all. He was too… self obsessed to be respectable.

He clutched his notepad close to his chest. The stranger held his arm out, waiting for the paper. William stared into his eyes, a piercing blue colour, much like his own. Again, he looked the stranger up and down. This mystery man who had the nerve to demand to read William's poem wore a long leather coat and slouched carelessly.

"Before I do just hand it to you, may I at least have your name?" William asked. He wanted a name he could call this stranger by.

***

Spike smiled. Even as a human he was stubborn when he needed to be. This wasn't how he had planned it. He'd sweep in and stop his human self from making a fool of himself by reading that bloody poem that turned him into this mess. Then again, drunken strategies didn't often work as planned.

"Yeah, the name's Spike." He answered William's question. _God, I never realised how much of a poof I looked with that hair. _He thought to himself. William looked confused.

"By any standards, what kind of a name is Spike?" William asked, puzzled.

"You'd be surprised if I told you, mate." Spike answered. "Now, if you don't mind." He demanded the poem with more urgency now. He had to do this before the party ended. That was the one thing he'd been told.

***

William slowly held out the sheet to give to Spike. The name sounded… strange to him… Spike snatched the sheet from William. His skin was slightly colder than William's. William wondered what this Spike could possibly do to make that poem sound better. Well, it couldn't get any worse. William held the pen out for Spike. Spike snatched that, like he had the sheet, and began to scribble.

"_Tis grown a bulge in it?! _You may as well tell 'er that she makes you wanna puke!" Spike shouted. William glared at him in disbelief. Spike was supposed to help, not criticise.

"Well, if you've taken it to make a mockery of my poetry skills, I'd prefer to have it back, thank you." William said angrily. He'd decided he really loathed this man.

Spike sat down next to William. "Sorry, I forgot what it's like, writing poems for love. But listen, you give her this and you'll be signing your own death wish. Right, now to fix this." Spike turned his attention to the sheet. "Why don't you make a few notes on what you wanna tell her in the poem?" he suggested.

William considered this for a moment. "I…. I… I don't know… She just… She's just… wonderful… She's like an angel… more perfect than any of us can ever dream to be!" He managed. He watched as Spike wrote something down. Strange, William saw that Spike's handwriting was very similar to his own, only messier. There, in scrawled writing was the word _perfection._

Perfection. William couldn't believe how a stranger had managed to summarise Cecily in one word. "Come on, something else. You can't write an impressive love poem with just one word," Spike urged him, "How do you feel?"

He sighed. "That poem is how I feel."

"Well, it needs to be dollied up a lot. If I were a bird, I'd hate getting this." Spike told him honestly. "Try tell me what you meant by it."

William shut his eyes, thinking. He brought Cecily's face to mind. His heart skipped a beat. He felt like singing and dancing and so many other things all at once. He felt himself smile.

"When I think of her, my heart swells with joy." William gushed. "Looking at her makes me feel like I can do anything with the greatest of ease." He watched as Spike furiously scribbled.

***

Spike looked at what he had written for William. "Now look, you've got some great material for writing a poem. All's you've got to do is work it into what you're trying to say," he told him as encouragingly as he could manage. He couldn't help but fidget as precious time ticked by. "Right, now time to get workin' on that poem." He handed the notepad back to William.

William stared uncertainly at the notepad for a few minutes. He frowned. Spike could feel uncertainty emit from him and knew William wouldn't write something unless he helped. "Look," he began, carefully thinking of what he was saying, "The only thing I can say is you have to be sure of what you're saying in a poem like this." He watched as William closed his eyes and thought, opened them, smiled and began writing.

About five minutes later, William stopped writing for the first time since he started, and he was now re-reading his work. Spike heard two words he didn't think he would. "It's done." Spike smiled widely as he said "Give it here." William was holding the sheet out before Spike had asked for it.

Spike read and re-read it a few times, mouthing the words as he read them. _Why couldn't I have written this the first time?! It's bloody brilliant! _He stopped and looked up to see his human eyes staring at him curiously. "It's good." Spike told him, shrugging casually, afraid that too much praise would get William overconfident.

***

William stared incredulously at Spike. His poetry was never "good". He had to be lying. He held out his hand, expecting the poem back. He noticed Spike's blank stare. "What, you expect me to hand this back to you so you can make a bollocks of it now? Sorry mate, I can't let you do that." Spike turned and walked away through the groups of talking people, giving someone a shove if they were in his way. William couldn't believe that this was the same man that had just helped him write the best poem he had ever written. He had just stolen it! All William could do was sit there watching. He felt frozen to the spot.

***

There wasn't much time left now. Spike shoved past people he recognised, not stopping to think of the names he had long forgotten. Failing to find a decent place to stand, he climbed up one, two, three, four, five steps, and turned to face the people he knew were paying no mind to him. _And now, _he thought to himself_, time to bring the house down. _He smiled to himself, and cleared his throat loudly.

"Hey!" he shouted loudly. No one even so much as glanced at him. "HEY!" He called louder. Everyone turned to look at him. The noise in the room died down. Spike looked around the room, pausing to look at some of the more familiar faces. "Everyone listen up! Can anyone guess what this is?" he asked, holding up the sheet. A murmur swept through the room, accompanied by a few giggles.

***

William felt his face redden. Even though Spike said it was good, he didn't believe him. Nevertheless, he listened to Spike too. "A friend of mine just wrote this. He was nervous to read it, and asked me to read it out for him. It's for a woman he loves. Cecily." Then he looked down at the sheet and glanced back up at William before he started reading.

_Eyes sparkling like a diamond sea,_

_You lift the chains on my heart, make me feel free._

_Your smile as sweet as the sun's warm glow,_

_Thinking of it melts the snow_

_In this cold heart of hopeless gold._

_Wishing You'd say three simple words,_

_Thinking if I said them they'd sound absurd,_

_Whisper sweet and soft and low,_

_And with each word my love will grow,_

_I'll keep it all for you._

_And though years and years will pass,_

_I'll still sit with you in the meadow grass,_

_And listen to the babble of the sweet stream,_

_An image like this, the most pleasant dream,_

_And all I ask is that you see me._

_Wishing to caress your warm skin, _

_I stand and wait, just within_

_Reach. Just know that I'm here._

_To dry up every tear_

_And ease every fear._

_I'm right here._

William smiled. Now that he had heard it aloud, he realised he really had captured his feelings for Cecily perfectly. Someone clapped slowly, then one or two more people joined in. Soon the entire room was full of people clapping and cheering. Spike jumped down from the table and William rushed up to meet him to get his poem back. He pushed through the crowd of people, some who tried to talk to him as he pushed past. Then he saw Spike, talking to who other than Cecily. He took a deep breath and walked forward.

"Cecily," he greeted casually.

"Oh William! You wrote that?! For me?!" She asked, delighted. William had obviously done something right.

"I-I…. I hope you liked it," William stammered, unsure of what to say.

"Like it? William, that was one of the best poems I've ever heard! It's so sweet that you'd ever think to write something like that for me!" Cecily gushed, throwing her arms around him. "Write more for me! Please!"

More? She had actually asked him to write more. William looked at Spike, unsure of what to do. Spike nodded in encouragement.

"Well, I'd be delighted to!" William answered truthfully. "But do you mind if this fellow and I chat for a while?"

Cecily smiled widely. "Of course!" She replied, "I'll be over there," she pointed. She waited for William to answer, then left.

***

"Well?" Spike asked, wearing a slightly smug look on his face. "I told you they'd love it!" He knew that the poem (and William) would be accepted like that. "Did I or did I not tell you you'd get the bird?!"

"You told me," William grinned sheepily, "thanks for all your help, Spike."

Spike lay a hand on his shoulder. "Anytime, William." Spike turned to leave, knowing his part was done. Now he just had to hope he didn't make a bollocks of it a second time.

"Wait, where are you going?" William asked, sadly. Spike stopped in his tracks, surprised by his own regret for having to leave. He sighed.

"I've got other places to be now. Just do us a favour, mate, and don't mess it up." Spike said quietly. He walked away. William, not exactly sure what to do, just stood watching. He couldn't help but feel that this man had changed his life.

***

Out in the street, Spike began to feel dizzy. Maybe it was just the excitement of the night. Or maybe it was something else. He closed his eyes and clutched his head, trying to stop it from moving. He felt himself sway and fall. He tried to hold out his hands to stop himself from falling, but felt as though he was moving through custard.

He opened his eyes in shock when he felt the contact with the ground. His eyes took a few seconds to adjust, but once they did, he saw he was in the same alley he had left hours ago. He couldn't understand. He still felt like a vampire and nothing seemed to have changed. He really thought he had done it, fixed everything.

As he remembered what he had done for it to happen, he tried to "Re-enact" it. He sat back against the wall, buried his head in his hands and closed his eyes. Sitting there, he began to feel himself drift off… Then he opened his eyes and looked through the gaps in his fingers in fury as he realised what had happened. His drunken mind had dreamed up the whole event. He stood up, screamed and kicked the wall.

_Well, what now? That's a whole…… I don't know how long wasted. What do I do to waste the rest of it? _He began to think to himself, something he seemed to be doing a lot lately. _Hmmm…… There's nothing to do here, this place is boring. Maybe there's a decent person I can fight with around here. But they're all sodden humans! Maybe I can go find that slayer again, have another crack at her. _"Yeah, that's what I'll do!"

Spike turned and left the alley. In the darker corner, A wicked smile spread across a hidden face. Influencing dreams was so much fun! Now who else was there to pick on…


End file.
